


This Year

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: F/M, hints to various ships not including the characters in the relationship tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 22:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: "Almost everyone in Future Foundation had died after the last killing game so there was no one left to look too far into it, and with Makoto and his friends’ arguments, protests and compromises, Hajime and the others had been spared from execution, especially since they had helped talk Ryota down from broadcasting his hope video to the whole world, and they were instead sentenced to confinement on Jabberwock Island. Now, after much negotiating, they had been allowed to leave the island for a few days and come here, but then they have to go straight back."AKA The healing power of Christmas. A festive sequel toAnd I Would Do It Again, an AU where the survivors sustained more permanent damage after what they went through.





	This Year

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to [And I Would Do It Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9520388). While you don't have to have read the first fic to understand this one, doing so and leaving comments/kudos on both gives me an ego boost.

With his hands on his hips, Makoto exhibits a wide smile as he surveys the hospital room. They couldn’t do much with the colour of the pale yellow walls, but they decorated as best they could for the festive season. Walls panels run around the room as per usual, though now on top of them are flat wooden Christmas trees sprayed with metallic paint, varying in size between the length of a hand and the length of a forearm; however, despite the spectrum of different sizes, all of them are based on the same clip art template.

He turns his head. Green tinsel has been fastened to one wall, bent into the shape of a jagged heartbeat line. That had been Komaru’s idea.

She and Touko would be here soon.

“The forest on the walls are so cute,” gushes Aoi, admiring some near her as she stands by a window.

Yasuhiro can’t hear what she says, even if she speaks loudly. He grins anyway and nudges Aoi’s arm. She blinks, glances at him and then notices the fake snowflakes in her hands. The crinkle in her brow doesn’t ease up.

“Oh, what are these?” Aoi asks. Before anyone can answer, before she can forget, her features harden and she slowly says, “Let me guess... Um...”

“We’re decorating you guys’ hospital room,” says Makoto almost immediately but with no impatience. Quite the opposite. He sits on the edge of a bed, working on an origami tree with the bedside table as his work surface. “It’s nearly Christmas, and we thought that it would be nice to add to the atmosphere.”

Aoi gasps behind a hand. “It’s nearly Christmas?”

This is the third time that she has said it this morning.

“Hey, you guys better not be slandering me,” says Yasuhiro, dipping his head forward and feigning disapproval.

Makoto signs ‘Christmas decorations’, and Yasuhiro smirks.

“I’m messing with you, Naegi-chi!” Yasuhiro assures him with a twinkle in his eyes like the fake snowflakes hanging from the ceiling. They’re all friends here, and Yasuhiro knows that, embraces that, but that is his way of reminding them that unless he can see their lips or they use sign language, he can’t follow the conversation.

He grasps Aoi’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Let’s finish the window, ‘right, Asahina-chi?” he says to Aoi, and she turns toward it.

On the other side of the room from where Yasuhiro supervises Aoi as she sticks on more paper snowflakes, Kyouko leans on crutches, fixing the last of the metallic Christmas tree shapes onto a wall. She can’t talk much, and ever since she volunteered herself for this task an hour prior, Makoto’s eyes have flitted over to her at frequent intervals in case she shows signs of needing a rest. Though, even if she does start to falter, he doubts she would take a break if he asked her to. After her poison-induced coma, she has remained as stubborn as ever.

Still stubborn. Still Kyouko.

He meets her only visible eye and she gives a curt nod. Her other eye hides behind a medical eyepatch. The skin on that side of her face is slowly losing its purple tinge over time. From when she developed it a few months ago.

Kyouko puts up the last tree and hobbles over to her bed. Makoto resists the impulse to rush over and help her lie down. When he swallows, it echoes through his body. He watches as she reclines slowly onto her bed and shuts her eye. She lies very still, with her hands in a neat pile on her chest, like she’s lying in a coffin. But she’s not, she’s alive, she is, and he tears himself away from the sight, hauling his gaze onto the paper origami tree in his hold.

With some fumbling, he makes his first successful one. It’s a bit lopsided, but he sets it carefully on a bedside table, where it resides with his previous attempts. Makoto creates three more by the time the door opens.

“Oh, wow,” says Komaru, and she takes a few steps in, absorbing the decorations that had not been there the day before. It’s not a commercial Christmas wonderland like they would visit at the shopping mall as kids, but it’s something, and from how she forms a smile, it seems to be a pleasant something.

The hospital room has its charm. They even managed to supplant the smell of hospital somewhat, with scented candles and air fresheners from the festive aisle in the nearest supermarket. It’s supposed to smell like an evergreen forest and there are hints of frosty pine, though the candles are prettier more than they are fragrant.

Aoi turns, hearing them enter. Yasuhiro sees motion from Aoi and turns too.

“Oh, hello!” Aoi chirps. “Are you...?”

Her lips contort in thought as she traces her finger against the palm of her other hand.

“That’s Touko Fukawa,” says Komaru, jerking a thumb toward Touko, who stands behind her, shoulders hunched, and then she points to herself. “And I’m Komaru Naegi, sister of Makoto Naegi.”

Silence.

“I’m Makoto,” says Makoto, raising a hand.

Aoi pouts and folds her arms over her chest. “I was about to remember that time, honestly.”

Sometimes, when Aoi wants to remember someone, she will go through the photo album that the others put together for her. The album lies on her bed, good for browsing through but not so great for being a quick reference. There are days when her memory lasts longer, but then there are others when it sifts through her fingers like sand, and at this time of year, there’s a lot to remember, a lot to take in.

Yasuhiro shakes her shoulder.

“Let’s put the rest of the decorations up, ‘right?” he says, watching her lips.

“Decorations?” Aoi tips her head to one side. “Is it a special occasion or something?”

She screws up her face, and the room inhales, about to answer, but then the tension sprays off her face.

“It’s nearly Christmas!” she cries out, looking ready to burst with elation. The upturned corners of her lips certainly seem sharp enough. “I remembered!”

That brings out smiles from almost everyone in the room, with Touko’s frown not budging. While Yasuhiro and Aoi continue with decorations, Komaru looks around some more and then homes in on Makoto.

“Where do we put our Secret Santas?” she asks with an arm wrapped around her middle.

“There’s a box under the bed,” he says, and he gives the bed that he’s sitting on a small kick with the back of his leg.

The seven of them each chose a name at random from a bowl, and for the past two weeks, the box for their presents has been under this bed, available for anyone to sneak their present in whenever. Komaru bounces over and bends down beside him. She pulls out the box, dumps in a present encased in shiny pink paper, until now hidden under her coat, and then stands up, using her foot to shove the box back under the bed. For a few moments, she studies her surroundings, but her eyes fall on him again.

“You’re not going to leave those trees like that, are you?” she asks, pointing at the bedside table.

He knits his brow. “What?”

“Those paper trees!” Komaru clarifies, wagging her extended finger a little. “You need to decorate them with like, glue and glitter and stuff. You can’t leave them plain.”

“I was going to do that after,” he replies with an attempt at evenness, but a harsh syllable is a harsh syllable, and he arches his shoulders. Not that there’s anything wrong with being plain.

“I’ll do it,” she says in a bossy tone that only a little sister could get away with, and she turns her head this way and that. “Where are the crafty things?”

“Crafts,” corrects Touko in a mumble, to the acknowledgement of no one. Makoto directs a finger toward a pile of plastic storage boxes on one of the beds and Komaru darts over to it.

While Komaru rummages through them, Touko saunters further into the room, holding her arms. Her eyes travel, explore, barely taking anything in, and keep drifting over to one of the beds, the only one surrounded by blue curtains. She glances over paper chains of snowflakes and wooden trees, skips past Yasuhiro and Aoi, who are now sticking paper snowflakes to the glass panel in the door, and plods on. Every time her gaze pings away from the bed, she comes back to the curtain, stronger, for longer. By the time she reaches it, she stares at the fabric and nothing else, making no sound, no fidgets, a grey cloud in a winter-washed hospital room.

Aoi isn’t the first to notice Touko’s behaviour, but where Makoto kept quiet, she has no qualms piping up what’s on her mind.

“What are you looking at, Fukawa-chan?” asks Aoi.

Touko stiffens. She shoots a glare over her shoulder. “Mind your own business!”

Her snarl does little more than a finger flick of water would. Moreover, instead of putting Aoi off, Aoi peers over more curiously, and everyone else turns away from what they’re doing to watch. Kyouko opens her eye, though it’s debatable if she had actually been asleep. According to herself, she’s a light sleeper, so while anyone would have woken up upon hearing Yasuhiro’s permanently raised voice, the click of a door and tiptoed footfall whenever Touko creeps into the room at night is enough to rouse her.

Makoto, Komaru and Touko don’t stay in the hospital like the others. They dwell in an apartment block nearby, but they visit when they can, and Yasuhiro’s mother has told them that they can drop by whenever. Touko takes advantage of this the most, to no one’s surprise.

It’s Byakuya, after all.

“Is someone in there?” Aoi cranes her neck. Makoto gives a lopsided smile.

“Togami-kun’s there,” says Makoto.

“Togami?” Aoi swigs the name, rolling it around in her mouth. “He’s... um...”

Her lips press together as her gaze turns inward.

“Blond, white glasses,” says Makoto, idly toying with the origami tree in his hands. He realises and stops, but his grip on it remains firm. “Tall...”

One robotic arm. Two robotic legs.

A lot of scars.

His pinching dents part of the tree. Aoi raps gently on her head.

“I think... I remember him...?” she muses. She pokes the tip of her tongue out. Next to her, Yasuhiro’s eyes flicker between the curtain and Aoi. He ends up settling on her.

“Togami-chi? You know him, right?” says Yasuhiro. “Blond, square glasses... Grumpy... Sour like a lemon?”

Touko has a comically contorted look of offence on her face. Aoi, however, widens her eyes and beams.

“Yes! Him!” Aoi says, clasping her hands together. “He’s in my photo album.”

Some things are setting in for her. Slowly but surely. Other things are as light and transient as a snowflake. As gravitating as Aoi’s sunny deposition is, everyone soon stares at the black hole in the room. The curtain. Even Kyouko rolls her head gently in its direction. It doesn’t open.

“Is he sleeping?” asks Aoi. “Or does he think he’s too good for us?”

“Maybe he’s asleep?” Yasuhiro suggests with an upward inflection and a shrug. He kneads the back of his neck. “But he’s meant to be joining us for some of the celebrations, ‘right? Fukawa-chi?”

“... That’s correct,” states Touko, with her back to everyone else in the room. Makoto signs her answer to Yasuhiro.

Byakuya rarely pulls the curtains aside, venturing from behind the fabric walls only to attend physiotherapy and for the odd toilet retreat. However, though Makoto has never seen these supposed visits, Touko regularly steals into the room at night when she thinks everyone is asleep to spend some time with Byakuya, and she is the one who revealed to the others that Byakuya had agreed to come out for the visit from the survivors of the Killing School Trip that took place in the virtual Neo World Program.

It has been a while since they last saw each other, in person.

But just because the mutual killings occurred in a computer simulation, doesn’t mean it didn’t have long lasting effects in the real world. After the five survivors helped save Makoto and the others, they had to pretend that they had been brainwashed with a video rather than the truth. In reality, Junko had traced her blood-coloured nails over their cracks and had said the right words. Junko beckoned to them, and they had willingly followed her. Instead, they had to say it was brainwashing, and the existence of Ryota’s hope video supported this theory enough.

He had made three kinds of videos. There were propaganda videos, used to heighten emotions and persuade people over to Junko’s cause, whether it be with desire or in surrender. Another brainwashed people into committing suicide by driving them to complete and utter despair, using certain sounds and imagery. That had been used in the killing game that commenced during Makoto’s trial. The final kind of video supposedly removed despair from a person, in theory leaving a person only with hopeful thoughts, but for whatever reason, it ended up suppressing all thoughts, all free will, and long term exposure caused deterioration of the brain.

None of those videos had made Hajime walk down the path he did, nor any of his friends. They had been personally manipulated into becoming Junko’s elite force. Almost everyone in Future Foundation had died after the last killing game so there was no one left to look too far into it, and with Makoto and his friends’ arguments, protests and compromises, Hajime and the others had been spared from execution, especially since they had helped talk Ryota down from broadcasting his hope video to the whole world, and they were instead sentenced to confinement on Jabberwock Island. Now, after much negotiating, they had been allowed to leave the island for a few days and come here, but then they have to go straight back.

Touko takes a deep breath that shudders her shoulders. The curtains stand before her, a sapphire fortress, but she brings herself toward it and disappears behind it. Makoto doesn’t know what they’re saying at first. That part of the conversation is too muffled to understand, and then Touko’s voice becomes clearer, and most of them can hear what she says.

“Darling... The only person to blame for your injuries is Junko Enoshima. Why you’re here is because you’re strong. You survived.”

Byakuya mumbles, slurs his words a little, but Makoto gets the gist of what he’s saying.  Enoshima didn’t draw him to the building that imploded, that crushed him under rubble. Makoto’s throat is too thick for him to swallow, and his stomach is rock hard. He expects Byakuya to snarl that it’s Makoto’s fault. After all, Makoto sent out the distress call to him. Even got a backhanded compliment out of Byakuya, and then... then that happened.

“You weren’t stupid. You’re not stupid,” Touko assures him. “No, no. You’re not weak. You survived. You had to be strong to survive. Please, Darling... You said you would. Isn’t putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how painful, proof that you are strong? That you are alive? Isn’t that what you told me?”

More mumbling, and then silence. It rings in Makoto’s head, screams from the inside. But then the curtain shifts, and it rustles as it opens. Touko perches on the edge of the bed, and propped up with pillows is Byakuya. He wears the same oversized, blue-grey t-shirt as the others, long enough to preserve his modesty. His robotic legs are bare, one stretched out in front of him, the other bent at the knee. They have a lot of detail on them, but Makoto doesn’t know if they have a purpose or if they’re for aesthetics.

The fact that Byakuya’s fingers, his original fingers, loosely grasp Touko’s hand doesn’t escape Makoto, but Makoto allows himself only a second or two before he lifts his gaze.

Byakuya’s face is ravaged, scars pink and red, and his hair is a a blond nest. Blue eyes stare out, like the Sun after a storm.

“Hi, Togami-kun,” greets Makoto, plastering on a smile.

Not answering, Byakuya removes his hand from Touko’s grip, adjusts his glasses and inspects the room. His last physiotherapy session wasn’t that long ago, but the decorations would have gone up since then, so to Byakuya, the room has transformed from clinical daffodil yellow walls and minimal furnishing to this paper white trimmed landscape.

He wrinkles his nose.

“It took a lot of persuading to get the staff’s permission to hang up decorations here,” says Makoto.

“You know, they weren’t against it because they hate fun,” says Byakuya. The look he casts around the room is more tired than scornful, but both are there. “Dusty decorations are more likely to expose us to a potential infection by MRSA or Clostridium difficile.”

“But it’s pretty, isn’t it?” asks Aoi excitedly, and she does a little jig on the spot. “Yuta’s going to love it when he comes over!”

The room creaks despite how no one moved.

“What did she say?” asks Yasuhiro, to near equal reception.

Only difference is Komaru whips out her phone, taps the screen and shows it to him.

His eyes widen for a moment, then he creases his brow, staring down at Aoi. He chews words. After he checks his watch, he slaps on a smile and says with shaky casualness, “So when are Hinata-chi and the others coming? In an hour? We better finish with the decorations before then, ‘right?”

Touko keeps Byakuya company on his bed and Kyouko writes in a notebook, but as for everyone else, they spend the next hour giving finishing touches to the hospital room. Komaru beautifies Makoto’s origami trees and plants them on bedside tables. Yasuhiro and Aoi use up the rest of their snowflakes.

Makoto straightens bed sheets and gathers up paper clippings, and he has barely been sitting on one of the beds when the door bursts open. Half of them jump. Yasuhiro turns last.

“Yoohoo!” greets Sonia. By the time Yasuhiro realises they arrived, she has taken a good number of paces in, her arms laden with carrier bags. She wears a pastel spearmint winter coat and a woolen cap. Makoto remembers when she had long, blonde hair. He remembers when she had hair, not remnants of thread and scars.

Apparently, Junko’s scalp had been hell to detach.

“We brought presents,” Sonia says in a singsong voice, bustling onward and dumping the bags onto the closest unoccupied bed. With her hands free, she can clap them together, and she can then loosen her scarf.

Four hamsters peep out and after a quick look about, they leap down, landing on the bed. Sonia places the scarf onto the bed and slips out of her coat, which she hangs up on a hook. Around her neck, she wears a robotic collar like the others with her, and it has a small box-like device attached to it.

The collar is part tracker and if need be, part strong sedative. She can’t take it off, and though she can take her hat off, she chooses not to.

“Hi, Sonia-san,” says Makoto, bowing his head instinctively.

Others leak into the room. Kazuichi tweaks his beanie hat, showing a hint of his new teeth. They look much like his old set, pointedness and all. Akane’s face is fuller but the muscular frame she prided herself on has wasted away, and according to Hajime, she has to be more careful because her bones are permanently prone to breaking easier than that of other people.

Speaking of Hajime, he stands at the back of the group with Fuyuhiko, the latter wearing an eyepatch and an irritated frown. The patch covers the opposite eye to that which Kyouko’s obscures. Between them, they carry several paper bags with a fast food logo on them.

Hajime waves. Makoto waves back. The new arrivals spread out a little and admire the decorations. Sonia goes up to a large fake tree and cradles a bauble in her hand. They’re polished enough to show her reflection, and that might be why Sonia’s face darkens, why she lets go and backs away.

“Ooh, did you bring presents?” asks Komaru, ready to pounce on the bags that Sonia unloaded.

“A few,” Sonia says, not quietly but in a light voice, and she watches Komaru root through the bags, faintly amused.

Or she’s putting on an act - Sonia’s soft expression makes it hard to tell. She sits on the bed and brushes invisible dust off her skirt. The hamsters play in her scarf.

Komaru extracts various packets, setting them out in the open. There are bottles of sweet sake, bottles of lemonade with quirky flavours - savory cream stew to name one - and then there are foods. Wagashi. Gummies. Hi Milk Chocolate CUBIE, which are bite-sized milk chocolate pieces in an easily openable packet. That’s not all. Yuzu-flavoured jelly cakes with citrusy goodness. Cookies. Corn puff snacks smothered in chocolate, giving them a distinctive texture. Fizzy candy. Soft candy. Rolls of candy. Candy.

“It’s all food. But please, before you help yourself to any treats, we should eat the Kentucky Fried Chicken,” says Sonia. She pumps her fist, and her face becomes aglow. “KFC!”

With that bed too full of treats for anything more, Hajime and Fuyuhiko deposit their bags onto Yasuhiro’s bed. The bags mumble as they shift, and the aroma of fried chicken strengthens. Yasuhiro, Aoi and Kazuichi approach. Aoi licks her lips.

“Did you know that they also sell chicken with a repressed odour?” asks Sonia, remaining seated with her hands folded neatly on her lap. “That’s so quaint! Though if you reheat it, the scent apparently returns.”

Yasuhiro digs through the bags and takes out a bucket for himself. Following his lead, more people draw over to it. Komaru gets a bucket for herself, Touko and Byakuya, and Makoto uses an empty bag as a tray for Kyouko, who throws him an irritated look when he rests it on her.

“I can...” Kyouko’s words are gravelly, uneven when leaving her lips. She tries to swat him away.

“Please don’t push yourself,” says Makoto, and he begins placing chicken pieces and a few sides onto her makeshift tray. He flashes a smile. “Besides, there probably won’t be anything left soon.”

The chicken heats Makoto’s mouth, and the spices wash over his senses, leaving an aftertaste that tingles, that demands to be indulged further. There are armchairs, but only Yasuhiro and Kazuichi lug one over for themselves. Everyone else assumes a spot on one of six beds. Kyouko, Komaru and Makoto sit together. Touko sits with Byakuya. Sonia moves to sit with Akane.

Speaking of which, Akane is the only person without any food. She eyes the paper bags with a glower, fingers clawed on her lap. As inviting as the scent of it is, she resists it, but by how her jaw clenches, it’s no easy feat.

“Please, Akane, you must eat some,” says Sonia, holding a chicken leg to Akane’s lips.

Akane scoffs and turns her head to one side. “You’re beginning to sound like how that old man... I’m not hungry, all right?”

“It’s really good,” Kazuichi says with his mouth full.

Sonia wafts the leg under Akane’s nose, and Akane’s eye twitches. Still, Akane doesn’t relent, sitting stiffly. Hajime tilts his head.

“You don’t have to feel guilty about eating,” says Hajime softly. “You’re in control, Owari.”

A beat passes. Akane’s lips quiver. All eyes are on her and she snatches the chicken leg from Sonia, keeping her gaze down. Sonia dazzles with a wide grin and Akane glances up, glimpsing it, and the sight of Sonia’s mouth prompts Akane’s cheeks to hollow. Initially, Akane only nibbles the skin, but her bites grow bolder and when Sonia presents another leg, Akane chomps down on it.

The room lets out a breath of air that they didn’t realise they had been holding. While everyone else busies themselves with their meals, Touko lingers on Akane and Sonia. She peeks at Byakuya, who doesn’t make any attempt to feed himself. Her lips contort as she deliberates, and then, she risks it - she stabs a piece of popcorn chicken with a plastic fork and offers it to him.

He nearly goes cross-eyed to see it.

“It’s delicious, Byakuya-sama,” she promises. Byakuya bats it away, but with no real effort.

“I don’t like food from fast food restaurants. It’s full of carbohydrates, added sugar, unhealthy fats, and salt, with little to no nutritional benefits,” he tells her, glaring in its direction. He doesn’t seem to be looking directly at it, or at anything.

Hajime presses his fist against the underside of his chin. “You’re really not like our friend at all...”

Byakuya locks onto him.

“The imposter?” asks Byakuya sharply.

“Yeah. They loved fast food,” says Hajime with a sad smile. “They said because it served the same kind of food, it gave them a sense of security.”

“Well...” Byakuya probably has some kind of scathing retort in mind, but it cools on his tongue. His features smooth. “I’m not your friend.”

What he does come out with still lands a dull blow, kicking up dust between them. Hajime’s face sobers.

“Yeah. I know,” says Hajime.

“What did he say?” asks Yasuhiro. Aoi repeats Byakuya. Yasuhiro squints. Sonia signs what Byakuya had said and Yasuhiro gasps. He points a plastic fork at him. “Togami-chi, we’re all friends here! Be nice! It’s nearly Christmas, for Madoka’s sake!”

Byakuya lifts his robotic hand, palm up. “You’re misunderstanding what I meant. I was saying that me and my impostor are different people. I’m not that friend of yours,” he drawls. “We’re really not that similar, even when they pretended to me. Though, I wouldn’t say me and you are friends either... we’re more like colleagues, but who knows? That could change.”

Makoto sort of gets what Byakuya is trying to say. Byakuya isn’t that particular friend of Hajime, but also, they don’t know each other on a personal level yet to be considered friends. In the past, Byakuya was reluctant to refer to anyone as a friend. In fact, he would outright refuse and not budge from this stance. Now, it comes more readily, and Makoto still remembers being caught off-guard the first time Byakuya referred to him as one. Though, he isn’t sure that Byakuya would call Makoto his friend anymore.

Hajime nods a bit, on the same wavelength now, but his face is unreadably stoic. There’s minimal movement as people pick at their food. Sonia nabs a wipe and rubs her fingers with it, at first looking down, but then she sets her eyes on Byakuya.

“Though it is fast food, KFC is a popular festive meal in Japan, Togami-kun,” she says, earning a blank stare from Byakuya.

“And you could do with some more fat,” adds Yasuhiro. “You’ve lost your lean, bishounen figure.”

Touko presents Byakuya with the piece of popcorn chicken again. Makoto reckons it’s the same one as before, though she has a fair amount of food around her. She hasn’t eaten much yet.

“Thin... fat... whatever you are, you’ll always be handsome. Extra weight just means more to love,” she tells him. Then she hesitates, frowning. “But... I don’t want you to waste away, so... I think you should eat something.”

Anyone who thinks Touko only likes Byakuya for his looks is wrong.

Byakuya averts his eyes, gritting his teeth, but Touko doesn’t back down. The popcorn chicken hovers defiantly by his lips. He looks back. It’s still there, and he slowly opens his mouth. Touko’s grin stretches wide and she slides the chicken in.

It’s an unusual sight, but when Byakuya swings a glare at them, everyone retreats and resumes eating. There are a few pots of mashed potatoes, but the number of packets of French fries exceeds them significantly. Makoto finishes his fries and helps himself to a bag of nuggets. The sheer amount of food, not just KFC but the other treats that Sonia brought, makes Makoto feel a twinge of guilt. It couldn’t have been cheap. They must have saved as much of their allowance from Makoto as they could to make this possible.

“So how is everything going back on Jabberwock?” asks Makoto, with a heavier weight in his chest than usual.

Hajime swallows some cola, holding a plastic cup of it in one hand. “Mitarai and Alter Ego have everything under control. We told Mitarai that he could come, but he still felt really bad about what happened, so we didn’t push him.”

Ryota Mitarai, who helped Junko with her propaganda under blackmail and pressure. When the world sank into Hell, he had escaped, not consumed by despair like his classmates. Junko had apparently taken great delight at his awareness, at his anxiety, and it was one of his videos that drove members of Future Foundation into killing themselves. That broke Aoi’s memory bank.

Makoto doesn’t know what to say. None of his friends do either. His throat feels as thick as the mashed potato that Kazuichi scoops up.

“They’re all comatose still, but we haven’t lost hope,” says Hajime. “They’ve showed signs of awareness of their surroundings. Like last week, while he was visiting Pekoyama in her pod, Kuzuryuu felt her squeeze his hand.”

All eyes turn to Fuyuhiko, who’s chewing a wafu chicken burger. Fuyuhiko tries to swallow but doesn’t totally succeed, though that doesn’t stop him from answering.

“I said my name, and she squeezed my hand,” he blurts with his mouth half-full. He chomps and hurriedly swallows, choking a bit in his haste, and sounds like he needs to cough when he speaks next. “She knew I was there. She had to. She heard my voice and that’s how she answered.”

“I’m sure she knew,” Komaru agrees warmly, and she glances at Touko, who discarded the fork at some point and feeds Byakuya straight from her hand. A few more pairs of eye stray over to them.

“Souda has been working really hard,” says Hajime, drawing everyone’s attention back. Intentional or not, that would, or at least should, count toward friendship points for him and Byakuya. It also means Byakuya lets Touko continue feeding him this way in the background. “Not only does Souda maintain the machines, even when he’s physically away from the pods and all the tech, he’s figuring out how to improve them. He was working on blueprints on the ride here.”

Kazuichi shrugs and takes a drag of milkshake, leaning back in his armchair, one leg hooked over the other. “Ah, it’s no big deal for me. I could do it with my eyes closed.”

“It’s hella impressive,” says Sonia, and Kazuichi jerks his head up, sitting forward fast.

“It’s difficult work, but I’ll endure it! I’ll pour my blood and sweat into it and push my brain until it fries,” says Kazuichi, and he swipes his finger across the underside of his nose with a grin that could make skin crawl. Fuyuhiko and Hajime pull faces.

No one talks for a while, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. The hamsters finish the greens on their plate and proceed to nestle in Sonia’s scarf, chattering amongst themselves. Akane consumes her next round of food and sucks the tips of her fingers. Drool streaks her chin and breaks as she reaches for more. Sonia twinkles.

Makoto rises to refill his cup, and when he sits back down, he spies Aoi’s face.

“Are you okay, Asahina-san?” he asks. Aoi tenses and lifts her head.

“Um...” She fidgets with a drumstick. Her brow has puckered, and she looks at everyone. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I caught your names when you came in? Unless you said them, and I just forgot...”

“Oh, how rude!” Sonia touches a hand to her cheek. “My apologies, Asahina-san. No, we didn’t introduce ourselves. I’m Sonia Nevermind.”

“And I’m Hajime Hinata,” Hajime chimes in.

“Kazuichi Souda.”

“Akane Owari.”

“Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu.”

Aoi concentrates as she writes these names on her palm, starting strong, but by the second name, she wavers. Kyouko twists to the side and reaches for the notebook on her bedside table, the one that she had been writing in not just today but for the past two weeks. She holds it toward Aoi and waves it to try to get her attention.

“Hina-san,” rasps Kyouko when that doesn’t work, and Aoi looks. Makoto takes the notebook and passes it to Aoi.

The cover is a lush turquoise. Aoi peels it back to reveal the first page, which is titled ‘Friends’. There are small sections underneath, each with two photos of her living former classmates and a couple of bullet points beside them with different facts.  She stares down like she found treasure.

Actually, a metaphor is more appropriate here than a simile. Wait. No. It’s not a metaphor either. It’s literal. Aoi springs to her feet.

“Oh! Thank you!” she gushes, brimming with joy. She spreads her arms and makes for Kyouko, but seeing her state, slows and gives her a ginger hug rather than the bear hug that Makoto anticipated.

Judging by how Kyouko widens her eye, she expected the same as Makoto. Kyouko relaxes and with half a smile, the most that she can physically manage, she returns the embrace. Makoto scrutinises the handwriting in the notebook from where he’s sitting. While the left side of Kyouko’s body is the most problematic for her, and Kyouko is right-handed, the writing on that page doesn’t belong to her.

It’s Touko’s. He glances up.

Her face betrays nothing.

“I love it,” says Aoi, rocking them gently. Kyouko raises a hand off Aoi and points.

“Fu-san helped,” croaks Kyouko.

The hug lasts for a few more seconds. Aoi eases away from Kyouko and skims her notebook. She turns to Touko, who can no longer pretend that she had no part in this.

A squeak escapes Touko. Her head stoops and she twiddles her thumbs, trying to balance her blush with a scowl.

“It wasn’t my Secret Santa, but Kirigiri asked me to write most of it, and I couldn’t exactly say ‘no’,” justifies Touko, squirming. “What sort of person would I come across if I refused? I was roped into this...”

Komaru cocks her head.

“What do you mean? You volunteered,” Komaru points out. “Like you volunteered to help Aoi-chan buy her present for - ”

Touko swoops onto Komaru and lets out a hiss as she covers Komaru’s mouth. With Touko distracted, Aoi darts forward and tackles Touko, flinging her arms around her. The two of them stumble back and fall across Byakuya’s lap, with Aoi lying on top of Touko.

Byakuya jolts, throwing his arms up. Aoi buries her face in Touko’s shoulder, while Touko’s soul seems to be floating out of her nose, connected only by the end of its tail.

“Rise and shine, Asahina-chi,” Yasuhiro says, and Aoi gets up.

“Sorry,” says Aoi, slightly winded. “I just wanted to say thank you before I forgot.”

Aoi returns to Kyouko’s bed. Touko inhales her soul back in and stays where she is, glaring at Aoi, but her eyes soften as she changes her target to Byakuya, whose face grows a shade of pink.

“You get up too,” says Byakuya, not right away. “... You.”

She sits up, pushes her glasses higher and wilts. He adjusts his blanket over his crotch, pointedly turning his head away.

No one says anything for a moment.

“So... Secret Santa, huh?” says Fuyuhiko, and Makoto nods.

“Yeah. We all decided to do one this year,” Makoto tells him.

Aoi flips a page in her new notebook, chewing peacefully. Makoto rubs the back of his neck.

“Some might be less secret than others,” he adds, but he doesn’t know how long Aoi will remember who gave her the notebook.

“It’s such a cute idea... I wish we had done it,” says Sonia. She cups her cheek and leans into her hand. “A notebook to help Asahina-san with her short term memory is hella thoughtful. I apologise if this is too nosy, but what other gifts are there?”

“We haven’t given them out yet,” says Makoto. “We were going to do them after dinner, actually...”

“Then we better eat faster!” Sonia says full of passion, jiggling her fists.

They chip away at the vast amounts of food until crumpled packaging, bitten straws and bones are all that remain. On Sonia’s orders, Kazuichi, Yasuhiro, Aoi, Makoto and Komaru clear away the rubbish, collecting it in a black bag, and then they settle back on the beds. Makoto lugs out the box containing anonymously wrapped presents and gives out its contents. Each has a name written in print on them, in an attempt to disguise the handwriting.

Komaru rips away the paper and then searches through the shredded aftermath for the present. There seems to be much more wrapping paper than gift. She finds a pack of incense and a wooden incense saucer plate with golden ringed holes for the sticks.

“This looks like something that Hagakure-san would get,” Komaru remarks, holding it carefully in both hands.

Yasuhiro had been watching her lips closely.

“Lots of people would want a great gift like that,” he tells her, stroking his chin. “From the carvings on the timber rosewood, I can tell you that it originates from Saharanpur in Northern India. It seems handmade too, based on the craftsmanship.”

She rotates the saucer with intrigue.

“Wow! You really know your stuff,” says Komaru.

Or he just read that on its Amazon page when he ordered it.

The others begin opening their presents. Touko examines the fountain pen that Makoto bought her, with its retro pink feather and regal engravings that match its base, which it fits in snugly. Meanwhile, Yasuhiro narrows his eyes at a strange grey box the size of a standard calculator and next to a pile of shiny pink wrapping paper, Kyouko admires a bottle of blueberry perfume.

“What’s this?” asks Yasuhiro, turning the box over in his hands.

“You should be able to work it out,” says Touko, wringing her new pen, but of course Yasuhiro doesn’t hear her, and he continues his inspection of the box like she didn’t say anything.

“Hit it and see what happens,” says Akane, demonstrating on her palm. Her fist meets it with a quiet thud, but the sound is enough to cause Fuyuhiko to wince.

“Hey, careful! You’ll break your bones!” Fuyuhiko says, reaching a hand toward her. Akane gawks at him.

“I didn’t punch that hard.”

“But your bones...”

“Ah, focus on your own bone!”

Kazuichi glances at Fuyuhiko’s crotch. Fuyuhiko notices and leers at him.

“What are you ogling me for?” Fuyuhiko asks heatedly. “I don’t have...”

Byakuya clears his throat loudly. Fuyuhiko simmers indignantly, and him, Kazuichi and Akane bend their heads down, like a teacher reprimanded them. They all give Yasuhiro a little longer to press buttons at random before Kazuichi straightens and takes it from him.

“Hm...” Kazuichi investigates the slots. He presses a button. A CD slot reveals itself, and he nudges it back in. “You can put a CD or an SD card in, or connect it to a computer. It’s some sort of audio device.”

“It’s supposed to vibrate to the tune of a song playing on it,” says Touko.

“Aw, that’s pretty cool!” Kazuichi snaps his head up. “I bet I could upgrade it while I’m here. What’d you say, Hagakure?”

Only now does Yasuhiro look at his face. “Did you say something, Souda-chi?”

Kazuichi slumps, pursing his lips. Yasuhiro laughs, slaps a hand onto Kazuichi’s shoulder and gives it a friendly shake. Makoto turns to Byakuya.

“What did you get, Togami-kun?” asks Makoto.

Byakuya hasn’t opened his present yet but does so now, and once he can see the innards, he pauses. He lifts out a small book that Makoto glimpses the title of - a collection of maths equations - and then he unveils an antique doll with wild blonde hair. It wears a satin dress with a blue bodice, and the same coloured material falls over the sides and back of its white skirts. The sleeves are puffy and the colour of a pale seashell, almost beige.

“A doll?” says Fuyuhiko, one of many peering at it curiously. Byakuya checks the feet, where there are flat white shoes.

“Was there a mix up?” asks Kazuichi, scratching the tip of his nose.

“I am a collector of various things,” says Byakuya as he fingers the trim on the skirts. He draws his digit to its face, painted like it’s wearing makeup. It’s a little chipped. “OOPArt. Memorabilia. But also antique dolls...”

Yasuhiro’s eyebrows climb. Kyouko’s face betrays no knowing smirk, just an inquisitive eye, though Makoto admits to himself that he could be embellishing her blank expression, adding details that aren’t there, because he knows that she couldn’t have given that gift to him. Makoto knows it wasn’t him, and he knows what Touko and Yasuhiro gave for their gifts, and he shouldn’t know, but he saw Komaru’s gift for Kyouko as she placed it into the box.

Therefore, he can work out who gave who what.

“What’s yours, Makoto?” asks Komaru.

Makoto rouses with a start and lowers his gaze to the crudely wrapped present on his lap. He tears at it until he uncovers the goods within. It’s a scarf, half dark green, half red, the divide across its width, and as he examines it, shuffling the scarf through his hands, he notices its imperfections: small holes, uneven edges and an area toward the centre where the stitching is particularly misshapen.

“Is it handmade?” asks Fuyuhiko.

“Why do you think that?” asks Touko, on the verge of sneering. “What do you know about knitting anyway?”

Despite her offence at Fuyuhiko’s comment, the present isn’t from her. Makoto knows who it’s from. He winds it around his neck.

“It’s warm,” he says, keeping a hand on it.

“You dolt, you’re inside, you don’t have to wear it,” says Byakuya, but Makoto swears that he’s trying not to smile.

“Thanks. Thanks, everyone,” says Makoto, grinning, and he tugs the scarf tighter. He would have struggled to knit one himself, even with two human hands. The scarf must have taken a lot of patience. A lot of effort.

With all the presents given out, the room devolves into mindless chatter for a while, pockets of conversation patched together to form a low rumble. By now, the sky has deepened from a chilly blue to almost black. Kazuichi retrieves a screwdriver from his bag and fiddles with Yasuhiro’s present. To better watch what’s happening, Yasuhiro heaves his chair closer and props his chin on his hand, his elbow on the armrest.

Byakuya is studying the book of maths equations with Touko, Fuyuhiko is prodding at his teeth with a toothpick, Akane and Sonia being his audience; nearby, Aoi and Komaru discuss something that his ears aren’t tuned into, and -

“How are you, Naegi?” asks Hajime all of a sudden.

Makoto tenses. “Huh?”

Hajime stares at him, waiting for an answer. Komaru talks in the background, and though she’s not quiet, whatever she’s saying flies over Makoto’s head.

“I’m fine,” says Makoto. He scrapes his hand through his hair. “What about you?”

“Good. I’m fine as well,” says Hajime in the same way, and he pushes out a smile. Makoto is a bit confused, but the weight in his chest lightens, just a little.

Komaru wanders over to the mess of candies that Sonia dumped earlier. Sonia yawns silently behind her hand and upon noticing Komaru, lowers her hand.

“Please, help yourself,” says Sonia. “We also have Christmas cake and sake, if anyone wants dessert.”

There’s a chorus of voices indicating the affirmative. The box with the cake sticks out among the smaller packages and containers. Hajime extracts the cake, round in shape. Strawberries sit together on snowy white cream, and from a bird’s-eye view, the cake resembles the Japanese flag.They don’t have a knife, so Fuyuhiko uses a clean plastic fork to cut it into slices as equally as he can. Kazuichi sets aside Yasuhiro’s present for now and pours drinks into plastic cups.

Akane lounges on her back. Though she’s definitely looking at what’s going on, she doesn’t make any attempt to fetch anything for herself.

“Would you like me to feed you, Akane?” asks Sonia.

“This is like the Prince and the Pauper,” says Kazuichi. Fuyuhiko tosses a fork at his head.

However, this time, Akane doesn’t need as much convincing, and she lurches forward, sitting up. She snatches a plate from Hajime and stuffs the whole slice of cake into her mouth. Then she says something, but it’s too muffled for Makoto to understand. Crumbs spray from her mouth.

Finally, she says clear enough, “What else have we got?”

Candy. Cookies. Treats. Akane grabs handfuls and Sonia wiggles closer, grinning widely. While Sonia doesn’t feed Akane, which is probably just as well if Sonia wants to keep her fingers attached to the rest of her body, Byakuya offers no resistance when Touko offers him some cake on the end of her fork. He chews, swallows then glances at Makoto.

“Don’t get that scarf messy,” Byakuya warns him. “It would be disrespectful toward whichever friend got that for you.”

Makoto is excused from answering beyond a brief smile by Hajime, who gives him some cake. His slice has a strawberry on top. He plucks it from the whipped cream and pops it into his mouth. The rest of the cake is plain sponge, lacking any strong flavour or fruity aftertaste, or even a sprinkle of ginger. It’s traditional, and he takes another bite with glee.

“Pass me some sake,” says Byakuya, finishing the last of his cake directly from Touko’s fingers.

After the cake has been devoured by everyone, they further unwind. Aoi, Kyouko, Sonia and Komaru go through Aoi’s photo album. Akane, Hajime and Fuyuhiko chat in a corner with a glass of sake each and an electronic tablet, all three in high spirits as they talk to Ryota from what Makoto can overhear. Yasuhiro and Kazuichi resume work on Yasuhiro’s present.

“Look at this photo, Touko-chan!” Komaru calls out, beckoning to her.

“You can show it to me while I’m over here,” Touko replies, and Komaru juts out her chin, scrunching her face childishly.

Byakuya taps her on the back. “Go. Join them.”

“Eh?” Touko blinks. She picks at the corner of her lip. “But...”

“I said. Go,” he says firmly.

Rather reluctantly, Touko stands up and pads over to them. Byakuya watches and soon after she sits beside Komaru, he grimaces and sweeps his legs off the bed. He rises slowly and walks over, dragging his feet, each step thought through while for others, it would be second nature. The girls stare. Makoto stares.

When Byakuya arrives at the bed, he curls his lips.

“I need some space,” he says.

They shuffle up to make room for him and as slowly as he stood up, he plops himself down next to Touko. She leans against him and he doesn’t shake her off.

Makoto catches Kyouko’s eye, and they share small, knowing smiles.

A lot later, Hajime and the others leave for a hotel, but Makoto, his sister and Touko stay the night. For the first time, Byakuya sleeps without the curtain around his bed, and it only closes when Touko sneaks over sometime later and shuts it around them. In the moonlight, their silhouettes draw closer, and their heads combine to form a heart.

And for the first time in a long while, Makoto doesn’t dream. Doesn’t wake in a cold sweat that he mistakes for blood. Doesn’t struggle with his bed sheets, his breath rattling in his parched throat. He doesn’t hear his dead friends. He sleeps soundly.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eetIgGXH6DA


End file.
